<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Hot Pink by MoanDiary</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796352">Hot Pink</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary'>MoanDiary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lucifer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dom Chloe Decker, Established Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Pegging, Roleplay, Spanking, Sub Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), The Return of Candy!Chloe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:06:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23796352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you like it,” she repeats softly, “when I pretend.”<br/>“Yes,” he breathes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>278</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hot Pink</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re there in the back of her closet. He’s seen them. Lingered in front of them. Imagined—no—<em>remembered</em> gawking in astonishment and terror as she walked up to him outside the marriage counselor’s office. Endless, fishnet-clad, <em>perfect</em> legs terminating in those pink, patent leather platform pumps. His cock and his heart jumped in tandem as panic and arousal overwhelmed him. It was supposed to be Candy—Candy was a shield, a safe retreat from the things he couldn’t face, a way to make it back to her side without having to lie to her about how he felt or why he ran. But instead it was her, his clever, vengeful, unbearably gorgeous detective.</p><p>That was years ago, now, but the feelings those pumps evoked still echo every time they have a fight, every time he looks at them. And he can’t help it—they’re the lone point of bright color in the sea of brown and black that comprises the detective’s shoe collection. He wonders why she even had them in the first place. Did she buy them for him? Just to prove a point? Just to—</p><p>“What are you doing in there?”</p><p>“Hm?” He starts and turns around to find Chloe walking out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair, staring curiously at him. He realizes he’s been standing in the doorway of her closet for what must have been quite some time.</p><p>“Uh...nothing.”</p><p>One of her eyebrows rises ever-so-slightly in skepticism. She moves to stand beside him. He returns his eyes to the shoes in a kind of admission. “It’s just...you kept them.”</p><p>“Oh,” she says, following his gaze. Her cheeks flush appealingly. <em>Pink really is her color.</em> “Those. Well, I thought I might need them again some day.”</p><p>“I quite liked them,” he murmurs, a hint of a sly smile curling his lips. </p><p>She laughs. “Believe me, I know.” She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, a thought seeming to strike her. “Did you like me pretending to be her?”</p><p>“I like you to be you,” he says confidently, sensing a trap in the question.</p><p>She sighs and bends down to snag the shoes, placing them in front of her and gripping his shoulder for balance as she wiggles her damp feet into them. She straightens and steps back, then lets her towel fall to the floor.</p><p>Lucifer’s brain grinds to a halt, and for several long moments he forgets to breathe, his eyes making a repetitive circuit up and down her body, lingering on the tautness the shoes bring to her calves, the way they seem to make her legs go on forever. His attention is only dragged away when she snags her full bottom lip between her teeth and slowly lets it slide free.</p><p>“Do you like it,” she repeats softly, “when I pretend.”</p><p>“Yes,” he breathes.</p><p>She holds his gaze for one long, vibrating second that lasts a century, something electric and almost palpable passing between them. Then she looks down and says, “Good to know,” businesslike and breezy, toeing off the shoes and returning them to their place in the closet.</p><p>The day proceeds normally, and the shoes are not mentioned again.</p><p>But Lucifer does not forget, and he knows Chloe doesn’t, either.</p>
<hr/><p>They catch a case involving the murder of an abusive father, and Lucifer knows he’s being an absolute nightmare for the detective throughout—a small but strident voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Linda has been chastising him about it continuously—but sometimes he just can’t help himself. He storms out twice during key interrogations, argues with her in favor of the perpetrator several times, and at one point picks up a suspect by the scruff of his neck and shakes him like a disobedient kitten. When she asks him if he’d prefer to sit the case out, he refuses, haughty, and he sees some kind of switch flip in her eyes as she carefully composes her professional mask and continues on like always. He knows this won’t be the last of the argument.</p><p>They close the case, of course. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that she closes the case — the murderer was the hateful victim’s daughter after all, as the detective suspected from the get-go. She comes up beside him as he watches the murderer be handcuffed and hauled away.</p><p>“Can you come over tonight? I want to talk to you about something.”</p><p>“Of course,” he replies, casting her an anxious, sidelong glance.</p><p>“Thanks,” she says curtly as she turns and walks away.</p><p><em>You’ve really buggered it up this time, Morningstar,</em> he thinks, steeling himself. She doesn’t chew him out much anymore, not since he returned from Hell and their partnership took a turn for the romantic. But when it happens these days, it’s like a hurricane, unstoppable and powerful, made all the more terrifying by a traitorous whisper in his head saying <em>this</em> will be the time she finally decides she’s fed up with him.</p><p>So it’s with no small amount of apprehension that Lucifer opens the door to her apartment later that evening. “Detective?” he calls cautiously, quietly. The lights are dimmed and she’s nowhere in sight. “Darling?”</p><p>Seeing no one, he strides rapidly over to the kitchen and retrieves a bottle of scotch he’s secreted away in the highest cabinet over the refrigerator, the one that neither the spawn nor Chloe can easily reach. He unstoppers it and takes three long pulls to calm his nerves.</p><p>“I didn’t hear you come in.” He freezes with the bottle an inch from his lips, on its way to a fourth swig. A long-fingered hand with an extremely uncharacteristic hot pink manicure tugs the bottle from his grasp. His eyes follow the up an arm clad in an extremely furry pink coat and take a long detour down a pair of familiar, perfect legs to <em>those shoes</em> before climbing up to her face, framed in loose, tawny curls interspersed with pink extensions. Berry-colored lips quirk in a smug smile at his expression. </p><p>She lifts the bottle to her own mouth and takes a more reserved sip, eyes fixed on his as she swallows. She sets the bottle on the counter and leans back against it, crossing her ankles and lifting a glistening red lollipop to her lips, watching him expectantly.</p><p>“I…” he begins, eyes helplessly glued to her shining lips as they wrap around the round, wet end of the lolly and <em>suck. </em>“Chloe, about earlier...” he fumbles, confused, anxious, and <em>desperately</em> aroused.</p><p>She pulls the sucker out of her mouth with an audible pop and gestures with it, blinking her huge blue eyes innocently. “What about earlier?”</p><p>“Well, I realize I may have been slightly overzealous in my defense of your murder suspect.”</p><p>“Murderer.”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“She was the murderer, but go on.”</p><p>He takes a fortifying breath. “Perhaps I should have listened when you recommended I sit this one out.”</p><p>“And…?”</p><p>“And...good on you for being right about that?”</p><p>Her nose wrinkles. “No.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Not good enough.” She turns and strides towards the stairs. He stands rooted in place, eyes fixed on the flexing muscles of her legs and the hint of the curve of her ass in a deliciously short skirt peeking out from under her jacket. She pauses at the foot of the staircase, resting a hand on the bannister, turning to give him an imperious look, one finger tapping impatiently. “Well?” she says, gesturing up the stairs with the lollipop.</p><p>He scrambles to obey, closing the distance between them and almost jogging up the stairs. She follows him into her bedroom and closes the door behind them, perhaps only for effect since they’re alone in the apartment. The click of the latch feels strangely portentous. She shrugs off the jacket, revealing the tightest, smallest dress he’s ever seen her in. Her breasts are pushed up against each other, offering a rare glimpse of cleavage, and he swallows with difficulty. The dress’s hemline barely passes her hips. He wonders if she bought it just for this, just for him.</p><p>Her eyes meet his, flashing dangerously. “Sit. Down.”</p><p>He drops onto the end of her bed automatically. She stands in front of him and looks down at him coolly, regally, pink lips pursed.</p><p>Oh, but she’s angry with him. She is <em>very </em>angry. And he’s not sure what kind of punishment she’s decided he deserves, precisely, but the entire atmosphere—and the memories and emotions associated with it—catches him wrong-footed, off balance in a way he never is in highly sexually-charged roleplay situations. At least, not with anyone but her. He would be less uncomfortable if she were dressed in full leather dominatrix gear than like this. He wonders wildly if it’s possible to be so hard that he splits his trousers.</p><p>“You were a real pain in my ass on this case,” she says, fingers skimming across his cheek and cupping his jaw. He leans into her caress, eyes closing.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“And what do you think you deserve for that?”</p><p>“To be punished,” he whispers, unable to stop his mouth quirking in an eager, lopsided grin.</p><p>The slap to his cheek is more surprising than painful, and his eyes fly open.</p><p>“Do you think it’s funny?”</p><p>He schools his expression. “No.”</p><p>“No, who?”</p><p>“No, Detective.”</p><p>“That’s better. Now get undressed and onto your hands and knees,” she says, businesslike, stalking away into the bathroom. He watches her swaying hips, entranced, until she disappears from his sight.</p><p>He gets naked in record time, which is saying something for him, and clambers onto the bed, nearly vibrating in anticipation. He listens to the subtle sounds of her doing something in the bathroom for a few minutes before she walks back out. His breath catches in his throat at the sight of her, stripped down now to nothing but the shoes, stockings, garters, and a set of black lace lingerie with hot pink accents. She’s setting some items down on the dresser that he can’t quite see, and when she catches him watching, she gives him a reproving look and he casts his eyes downward towards the bedding.</p><p>He listens to the soft sounds of her heels on the carpet moving behind him, shifting restlessly in anticipation, cock bobbing. She ghosts a knuckle, feather-light, down the small of his back and over the curve of his rear.</p><p>“You were such a pain in my ass today, I think you deserve some pain in yours,” she muses.</p><p>There is a long pause before the first spank lands, long enough that he isn’t sure if it’s coming or not. He gasps in surprise and flinches forward. His sensitivity to pain around her is always a bit jarring at first. He’s ready for the second one, and then the next several, squaring his shoulders and spreading his knees a bit to take the punishment more gracefully. Each spank sends a jolt of sensation between his legs.</p><p>She switches to the other cheek and five more blows land there in quick succession.</p><p>“Do you have anything to say?” she says, sounding a little out of breath, fingers ghosting over his hot, sensitive skin.</p><p>“I…” he pants. “I apologize.”</p><p>“Good, but I want you to say it like you really mean it.” She strikes him again, and again, falling into a rhythm until he’s making helpless little sounds every time, jerking forward with her rhythm, his entire world narrowing down to the bursts of pain and the tense, anticipatory pauses in between. His upper half slumps down until he’s resting his weight on his forearms, head hanging low between his shoulders. In her violence he can feel more than just her frustration over this latest case—there’s years of anger in it, built up. Countless times he’s hurt her or let her down. She needs this, and he realizes that he does, too. He submits to it, embraces it, lets himself dwell in it, lets himself really <em>feel </em>the punishment. The last spank lands particularly viciously, on a sore spot. He flinches forward with a bitten-off cry.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Detective!” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And I won’t—” His voice wavers, raw and unsteady. “—Won’t do it again.”</p><p>“That’s my good devil,” she coos, both hands sliding soothingly over his sore flesh. He feels a rush of absurd pleasure at the praise, and a relieved moan escapes him. “I think you might deserve a little reward for being so good.”</p><p>He starts to turn over, wanting desperately to look at her, but she presses a firm hand between his shoulder blades, so he stays obediently in place. Her other hand slides between his cheeks to stroke the skin behind his balls and graze upwards over his asshole, and he shivers. </p><p>Abruptly her hands leave him, and he hears her walking back over to the dresser and busying herself with whatever delightful implements she brought out with her.</p><p>He finds he’s surprisingly content to just wait with his arse in the air and forehead pressed into her duvet, mind for once blissfully empty of anything but anticipation. No need to work at plumbing the depths of her desires; tonight, she’s fully capable of taking everything she wants by herself. He focuses on his breathing, and the stinging heat she left in his flesh, and the relentless ache of his arousal. He’s so lost in it that he doesn’t notice she’s returned to the bedside until she puts her hand on his cheek and turns his face towards her. He sucks in a soft breath at the sight of her. </p><p>Her panties have come off and been replaced by her favorite double-ended strap-on, the one he bought her for their first anniversary after an exhaustive search and focused interviews with several of his former partners. It is, he has been assured, <em>the</em> <em>best</em> strap-on money can buy. The head of her false cock quivers in the air near his face and he leans in to kiss it, letting the shaft slide across his face when her hips cant forward slightly. She sinks her fingers into his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, and he shivers, humming in pleasure. She tilts his head up gently and he focuses on her face with some difficulty, seeing the question in her eyes. He nods almost imperceptibly and she smiles benevolently down at him. </p><p>The thought that she would make a wonderful and terrifying queen drifts through his mind. Beautiful and strong, feminine and assertive, able to wield pain and pleasure with ease. He pictures her in an iron crown, stockinged legs crossed, pink pumps resting at the foot of an obsidian throne, before banishing the fantasy. </p><p>She trails one hand down his flank as she returns to the foot of the bed and climbs onto it between his legs. He rests his forehead on the mattress again, heartbeat quickening in anticipation as he hears her warming lube between her hands. She presses a finger into him, and then another. He groans as she scissors them apart, welcoming her easily. They’ve done this enough that she’s well-acquainted with what he likes, not to mention the precise location of his prostate.</p><p>He gets a little lost in it, his entire rear end a mess of warring sensation, and whimpers in protest when she withdraws, forgetting a moment the much keener pleasure to come. He gasps when she presses into him, at a rate that would probably be too fast for anyone else. But oh, does she know him. Chloe knows precisely what he needs, what he can take, and soon her hips are flush with his tender backside. They moan in harmony, her higher voice mingling with his deep groan. And then she grips his waist and <em>fucks</em> him.</p><p>Her pace is almost punishing, and he understands quickly that this isn’t a reprieve from her earlier discipline, but a subtle continuation. She wants to deliver a message: no one can do this to him but her. </p><p>He cries out when she strikes just the right angle, his fingers twisting in her bedding, hips moving in counterpoint to hers, seeking more. His aching cock slaps against his abdomen, and he frees one hand to try to touch himself, desperate for more stimulation, but nothing escapes her notice. She slaps his arm and gasps, “Not yet,” her voice choked with pleasure.</p><p>The rhythm of her hips falters and she slumps forward on top of him with a cry, arms wrapping tightly around his ribcage, thrusting erratically. “Lucifer,” she gasps against his back, biting gently at his skin. Her thighs tremble for a long time where they’re pressed against his and it takes the last of his willpower to hold himself still until she can give him further instruction.</p><p>Eventually she shifts again, and he whimpers at the sensation. She moans and stars a slow, deep, grinding rhythm seemingly designed to drive him mad.</p><p>“You’re being so good for me,” she murmurs against his back, and finally—<em>finally</em>—wraps a hand around his cock. He emits a strange, strangled cry, overwhelmed and oversensitized. It barely takes three strokes, well-timed to firm thrusts, before he goes off like a rocket, shaking violently. His vision whites out for several moments and he’s flying, blissful, detached from his body.</p><p>When his presence of mind returns, he finds himself splayed facedown on the bed, Chloe lying half-atop him, her fingers tracing aimless, lazy patterns along his arm. His entire body feels loose and relaxed. Tension and anxiety around a case that hit too close to home for him—tension he didn’t even realize was there—drains away entirely. He wiggles onto his side to look at her. Her lipstick has smeared and one of her extensions is falling out. She bites her thumbnail and looks at him a little uncertainly.</p><p>“That was okay, right?” she asks.</p><p>He huffs a disbelieving laugh. “It was more than okay, darling.”</p><p>She smiles at him, framed in a humble halo of light from her bedside lamp, and he soaks her in like a flower bending towards the sun.</p><p>He kisses the place where her lipstick has smeared past the corner of her mouth, kisses her sex-flushed cheeks, kisses the fine wrinkles spiderwebbing out from her eyes, kisses the swell of each breast, kisses the strap-on and her garters, kisses all the way down to the pink patent leather straps on her shoes before carefully unbuckling them and sliding them off. Her toes wiggle a little at their newfound freedom, and he massages the arches of her feet before reaching up to roll down her stockings, to unbuckle the strap-on and pull it out of her gently, to unfasten her garter belt, and finally to remove her bra, until all that’s left is his detective, without artifice or modification. </p><p>She could bring him to his knees just like this.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>